


Time Out

by fictocriticism



Series: Teachers [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Frottage, Holidays, M/M, teacher!klaine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictocriticism/pseuds/fictocriticism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys go on holiday. A short coda to the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time Out

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted by Alianne on tumblr, who wanted a fail!holiday.

The first time the students get a wind of something is after Kurt and Blaine’s first trip away together. They head to the Cape. Blaine’s packed his boardshorts and not a lot of anything else, expecting sunshine and beaches and lazy sex in their rustic beach house. Maybe an occasional walk. If they’re lucky. 

  
What they get is their flight being delayed after the plane had a faulty wiring issue, their luggage being lost somewhere along the way, a thunderstorm that closes the beach for swimming, and no record of their booking for their house when they arrive at 8:00 that night.  
  
Kurt’s furious, making irate phone calls that unfortunately achieve nothing -- despite his best Mr Hummel voice, guaranteed to make students whimper -- and googling accommodation on Blaine’s iPhone with his other hand. Usually, Blaine would be ogling Kurt’s dexterity with one hand, but this is not a usual situation. His hair, drenched after their run from the airport to the car hire, is a mess of half-matted curls and he can feel gel globs running down his neck. And if the rain wasn’t enough, the humidity in the air means he knows it will maintain emergency height levels for the week.  
  
He just wants a shower and to curl up next to Kurt in a double bed, dip his toes along Kurt’s ankles, and fall asleep with his nose tucked into Kurt’s neck. And it’s _just there_ \-- the house seems to be empty, cruelly inviting. There’s just no keys.  
  
When Kurt punches the ‘end’ button viciously on his phone, Blaine’s had enough.  
  
“Come on,” he says, reaching for his door. “We’re going in.”  
  
“What?” Kurt asks, eyes widening. “We can’t go in, we don’t have keys!”  
  
“I don’t care,” Blaine says. “And I’m not staying here for the night. I have plans.” He runs his eyes over Kurt’s body, drinking in the lean lines that have always drawn him in, ever since he first laid eyes on the gorgeous new teacher at Dalton Academy.  
  
Kurt eyes him warily, but his hand soon falls to his door, so Blaine chalks it up as a win. With a deep breath, he pushes open his door and runs through the downpour to the front porch. It’s an old house, weather-beaten but cosy, and he can see through the window that there’s a comfortable looking couch just a few feet away from where he’s standing.  
  
He’s going to find a way in if it kills him.  
  
He takes another breath (realising the futility of it immediately) and plunges out into the rain again, running around the perimeter of the house and checking every window he can find. It’s the last one, a high one that looks like it leads into the laundry, that gives way when he pushes it.  
  
“Kurt!” he shouts, but his voice is lost under the rain and wind almost immediately. He runs back to the front porch again, waving his arms at Kurt, realising belatedly he probably looks a little mad.  
  
“Come on!” he shouts, accompanying himself with some hand gestures until Kurt nods and starts to move.  
  
Once there, Blaine manages to convey the message that Kurt should hold his hands together so Blaine get step into them and reach the window. Kurt frowns but agrees.  
  
As soon as Blaine has one foot in the grip of Kurt’s hands, his own hands on Kurt’s shoulders, he suddenly realises that this is the closest they’ve been all day. Despite aeroplanes and car rides, this is the first time they’ve been physically pressed close to each other, out of sight of nosy passengers and passers-by.  
  
He makes an embarrassing noise in his throat and lunges for him, nearly pulling a muscle in his groin before his foot slips back down the ground. By then he has an arm around the back of Kurt’s neck, and the other on his chest, and their mouths are locked together. He licks into the seam of Kurt’s mouth, thrusts his tongue in quickly, faster than usual. Suddenly he’s desperate for it, gasping in the humid, summer air, the rain on his back feeling like it could turn into steam when it hits his heated skin.  
  
“ _Blaine_ ,” Kurt murmurs, his voice low and sexy in the way that has Blaine hardening in his pants. It happens a little too frequently, considering their place of work, but Blaine hasn’t gotten over the habit yet.  
  
Kurt moves then, swift and forceful in a way that highlights the hidden strength in those long arms. Blaine’s pressed up against the wall of the house, Kurt bracketing his head with his arms, caging him in, and Blaine’s cock is thrumming now, lined up with Kurt’s hip, heavy and hot.  
  
Their lips separate with a wet noise barely audible over the rain, and Kurt leans in to whisper in his ear, “come on, baby, no one can hear you”.  
  
Blaine gasps, his head falling back against the house, and it hits him then that they’re out in the open, where anyone could _see_ \- should anyone want to look outside on a dark, rainy night like this one. Anyone could see Kurt press Blaine against the wall and rut against him, see the way Kurt’s muscles hemmed him in.  
  
Blaine whines a little, loving the way he can feel Kurt _everywhere_. Kurt’s hips are pumping and he realises that he’s about to come in his pants like a teenager.  
  
One more thrust, two, and then he’s coming, pulsing hot and wet in his already drenched trousers, Kurt following him a few thrusts later when he clutches at his ass tightly.  
  
“Fuck,” he says, panting and sticky. They’re a mess.  
  
Kurt lifts his head and meets his eyes.  
  
“Can we try and get inside now please?”  
  
Blaine smiles, wide and embarrassingly fond, and pulls Kurt’s hands back down and lifting his foot into the cradle they form.  
  
“Wish me luck!” he says, and pushes up with his thighs until he can find purchase on the window frame.  
  
He does all right until he slides face first through the open window into a laundry sink.

  
  
***  
  
Later, when they’re clean and dry, Kurt gets a phone call about the keys and the luggage straight after the other. So by the time the sunshine emerges the next day, they’re both more than ready to lie out on the beach (Kurt covered head to toe with sunscreen and an umbrella). Blaine’s waggling his eyebrows at Kurt while making suggestive comments when they’re interrupted.  
  
“Mr Hummel? Mr Anderson?”  
  
It’s a student, Josh, one of Blaine’s higher-performing juniors. _It’s always the smart ones_ , he thinks.  
  
“Hey Josh. Here on holiday?”  
  
Josh nods and points out where his family is set up on the beach. Blaine finds himself exchanging an awkward wave with Josh’s parents, groaning quietly under his breath. Thankfully, Josh’s mother calls him back with a wave of her hand.  
  
“Did you hear?” Josh says excitedly before he leaves. “Apparently someone broke into one of the houses up here last night!”  
  
Blaine blinks. Kurt remains conveniently silent.  
  
“Apparently they were making out against the back wall of the house! My mum reckons it’s scandalous.”

  
Josh says this with the relish that only a teenager can have when someone else is caught out in trouble rather than them.  
  
“Oh dear,” Blaine mumbles, looking pointedly away from Kurt but still noticing the subtle shake of his shoulders.    
  
  
***  
  
The first day back at school, Blaine’s entire junior English class giggles when he walks in. He narrows his eyes, immediately suspicious, and sure enough Josh is sitting in the back row with a shockingly awful expression of fake innocence on his face.  
  
“Good summer everyone?” he asks brightly, hoping he can bluster his way through.  
  
It’s no use.  
  
“Great thanks, Mr A! How was yours?”  
  
“How was the Cape?”  
  
“Were you there with Mr H?”  
  
“Why don’t you two arrive at school together? It’s not like it’s a secret.”  
  
“Did he get sunburnt? He’s so _pale_!”  
  
“Were you kissing outside a beach house?”  
  
“Did Josh really catch his own fish?”  
  
  
It’s a holiday they don’t forget in a hurry.

 


End file.
